Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

minds,” one of them said abruptly. “They couldn’t even confirm you were human. They said it was like staring into the sun.”
    “We’ve all been through the Madness Maze,” said Lewis. He tried hard to say it calmly, without boasting. “We’re undergoing changes. Next time, ask. Now, whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
    “I’m Manfred Kramer. City councillor, and head of Mistport security. And with grammar like that, you’ve got to be the Deathstalker. I recognize the diva, and the Wild Rose, but who’s the short arse?”
    “Hey!” said Brett. “I’m a Random’s Bastard!”
    “So is practically everyone else in Mistport,” said Kramer. “If the professional rebel had sired as many children here as he’s supposed to, he’d never have got around to leaving. You behave yourself here, Random.”
    Just for that, thought Brett, I’m going to steal your undershorts. While you’re still wearing them.
    Lewis studied Manfred Kramer thoughtfully. The security head was a large, muscular man with dark, suspicious eyes and a sulky mouth. He had a death’s head tattooed on one cheek, and heavy black eye makeup.
    “Well,” said Lewis. “Here we are.”
    “If it was up to me you wouldn’t be,” Kramer snapped. “Nothing good will come of this. Nothing good ever comes of Mistworld getting involved with the Empire. But what do I know? I’m only head of security . . . Follow me. The rest of the city Council is waiting to talk to you.”
    “Hold it, hold it, Manfred,” said a woman at his side. She pressed forward to stare intently at Lewis with cold gray eyes. “I’m Councillor Jane Goldman. Are you really a Deathstalker? We’d heard they were all dead. Murdered.”
    “I’m Lewis. Once Paragon of Virimonde, now the last of Clan Deathstalker.”
    “Yes, I saw you once, in the Coronation broadcast, when the King made you Champion. I thought you’d be bigger, in person. And God, you really are an ugly bugger, aren’t you?”
    “Diplomacy is alive and well on Mistworld,” muttered Brett.
    “I think you’ve pulled, Lewis,” said Jesamine.
    “Never mind all that!” said another man, pushing past Goldman to stare right into Jesamine’s face. “It is you! It’s her! It actually is the Jesamine Flowers!” He lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful. “Ms. Flowers, I’m your biggest fan. I’ve got all your recordings. And your vids, and a whole bunch of your posters and . . . I, I brought this vid along, it’s my favorite. Would you be so kind as to sign it for me?”
    “Of course, darling,” Jesamine said graciously, as the fan searched inside his furs with both hands. “Always happy to meet a fan. Do you have a pen?”
    “What? Oh, yes! Yes, of course!”
    Other men and women began to produce things for her to sign, only to put them away again as Kramer glared fiercely about him.
    “Council business comes first! What’s the matter with you?”
    “Later, darlings,” said Jesamine. She stared coldly at Kramer. “And you don’t get anything .”
    “Is it true that Owen’s back?” said Councillor Goldman. “Have you really seen him?”
    “Yes,” said Lewis. “He’s back. And he’s everything the legends said he was, and more. He’s gone to face the Terror. We really don’t know any more than that. No doubt he’ll reappear to us, when his work is done.”
    That was enough to silence all of them, even Kramer. Finally he gestured for everyone to follow him, and stalked off into the mists. He set a brisk pace, and everyone else had to hurry to keep up with him. Lewis and his companions stuck close. They really didn’t want to get lost in the fog. Brett sniffed loudly.
    “Why don’t you buy some weather satellites, and clear up all this damned fog?” he said loudly.
    “Because we like our world this way,” Kramer growled, without looking back. “The long winter makes us strong. The cold puts iron in our bones. We always knew the Golden Age wouldn’t last. We’ve always been ready—to clear up the mess when it all fell apart.”

    Lewis and the others gawped around like tourists as Kramer led them deep into the sprawling city of Mistport. Like most people, they knew Mistport only from the old stories, from the days of the Great Rebellion. So much had happened here, so many significant people had come and gone, and yet hardly anyone knew any more than that. Mistworld kept itself to itself, and didn’t encourage visitors. In fact, for a while the city Council had